Quiet Is Violent
by My Dog Ben
Summary: Thoughts on how can dealing with anxiety be. Based on my own experience. Timeline: pre-S1 TW: drugs, anxiety


_Hello everyone, this is my first fanfic. I've been inspired to write this as to get away from my feelings. I don't feel much confident to write, but I feel more confident when I'm writing in english than my own language. This way I should also apologise for my english and mistakes._

 _Situation, which I've written here is based on my own experience with anxiety. I don't know how accurate it is, this is only how it goes for me._

 _And because Sherlock is character with which I can relate the most I've decided to torture him. :P_

 _Also I don't know if medication part is accurate. I've written it all from head. I'm no expert, but I'm graduate chemist /high school/ and I'm hoping to study pharmacy._

 _I don't own Sherlock or title, which is from Twenty One Pilots' song 'Car Radio'. There're hidden also three more lines from TOP's songs in story. Can you find them all? ;)_

 _Thank you for reading and please leave a review. Make me happy. :)_

* * *

 **Quiet is violent**

Everything is dark. Everything is quiet. Quiet. _Too quiet._

I'm tired. I'm exhauted. I want to do nothing. Only sleep. _Sleep_. Sleep sounds nice. But it's not possible. Not now.

My head protests. Always protests. _Thoughts._ Many thoughts are flowing through my head like river steam. It doesn't stop. _It never does._

I want to fall asleep and be free from these thoughts. At least for a while. _For a while._ For one minute. For one second.

I can't. _I can't._ Whatdid I do? I wish I knew. But I don't know what's happening inside my head.

Somebody stop it please. _Quiet is violent._ Constant buzzing in my head doesn't help.

I feel like my head and body don't belong together. Where do they belong then? Where do _I_ belong?

I sigh as I think about this. I've been thinking too much. I grab pillow from my bed and cover my face with it. Suddenly it feels _nice_? Trying to block my own thoughts.

From _whom_ am I blocking them? _Myself._

I'm mess. Why I must be this way. Why am I anxious? Why can't I just act normal? Why? Why? _Why?!_

Questions. Many questions. No answers. There've never been answers. Just unanswered questions. Maybe it's better this way.

It's dark and it's late. I'm tired. I want to sleep. I try to close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I can't. Everything is so loud that is keeping me awake. That's not true. Everything is quiet. _Too quiet._ My thoughts are loud and keeping me awake.

Shut up. _Shut up!_ Let me sleep. _Please._

I sit on my bed. Clutching my head in my hands. Forcing my eyes to stay closed. Then I open them and look around myself. Darkness and loneliness.

I'm alone. _Alone is what I have. Alone protects me._ However I'm not alone now. I'm left here with my thoughts.

I feel forming a headache. I lay on my bed and curl on myself. For protection. I try to close my eyes again and sleep. _Sleep._

Now my chest feels too tight. _Too tight._ My heart is beating rapidly in my _too_ tight chest. Like my heart wants to jump from my body. My pulse is probably too high, too. And I feel myself sweating that I kick off bed sheets.

My chest feels _too_ tight that I forgot how to breathe. Breathing is _not_ boring. _Not_ now.

Back of my mind is telling me to breathe. _To breathe_. Suddenly I'm not lying on my bed, but sitting and trying to draw some deep breaths.

I forgot how to. How to breathe. It hurts to breathe. My breaths are coming only in weak rasps. But I'm breathing. _At least._

Then dizziness happens. My head is spinning in circles. I don't know if it's from not enough oxygen or anxiety. _Probably both._

 _Anxiety._ How I hate it. Not knowing if you are hot or cold. Living in stress and constant fear. Fear of what? Fear of _unknown._

When I feel myself little calmed I lie down again. My heart stopped beating so fast. That's good. _Good._

I curl on myself and close my eyes. I can feel my body shaking. From what? I feel hot and sweating and from rexlex I press back of my hand to my forehead. Cold. No fever. I feel hot outside and cold inside. _Empty inside._ I don't know what's inside me.

I want to cry. But I don't cry. _Never._ I already feel tears forming in my eyes and quickly brush them off. No one can see me in this state. No one is allowed to see this side of me. _No one._

I toss and turn in bed from side to side, which ends only in kicking more blankets off bed. _Shut up brain!_ I'm trying to sleep. Can I just switch it off? I know I can't, my brain works constantly all day all night, without break. Right now however my brain needs break. _Sensory overload._

Then I feel strange feeling in my guts. _Nausea._ I try to remember what I have eaten that day. Not much as always. I start to take deep breaths as wishing to make it go away. Silently thanking that breathing is not painful anymore.

Finally settled I close my eyes again wishing that I have took something for it. Can't get up. Not now. I don't trust myself on my legs. _Too shaky._

My muscles are too stiff. Relax. _Relax._ Can't relax. _Can't._

 _Medication._ Anxiolytics. My only saviour. Because sometimes to stay alive you got to kill your _mind._

I don't want to go through this again. _Drugs_. Addiction. I'm not an addict anymore. I'm _clean._

This is different. This is _legal._ Psychopharmacs. _Alprazolam._ I have prescription. It calms me. Helps me fight my demons.

Why do I need chemicals in my body to function properly? To remind myself that I'm _human_? I'm more _machine_ than human. More _brain_ than _heart_. But now my brain is betraying me. That's why I'm taking chemistry as a relief. _Carefully_. Because Sherlock Holmes _the chemist_ will not be beaten by chemistry. _Not again._

I get up and make my way to bathroom on shaky legs and from cupboard I pull small box of medication. I take one pill and swallow it with glass of water.

I stop as I look at myself in mirror. Messy tousled hair, big dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. Not those sharp _eyes_ , with which I'm loooking at crime scene or mixing various chemicals together. My skin is pale. But I have always been so pale. I've become a _mess_. Mess of person. Am I really _person_ now?

I get back to bed. Waiting for medication to kick in. Eta 20 minutes. It's late. _Too late._ I should sleep. I want to _sleep._

I just want to be normal. Though I'm not. I'm _freak._ I always have been and always will. I'm psychopat, as most people refer me. They're wrong. Actually I'm high-functioning _sociopath._ Do your research.

People assume that I'm arrogant, annoying, rude. But less they know there's sad _troubled_ man behind those pair of bright ice blue eyes.

Right now I'm fighting neverending battle with my _demons_. It seems that demons are winning. I'm losing. But I'm fighting. _I'm not giving up._

It may be hard. It may be bad. I'm not going to _surrender._ I won't let this illness control me. I'll fight until I win this battle.

I want somebody who will hold me tight and tell me that I'm _worth_. That I matter. Everything will be okay. _Okay._ That _I'm okay._

I need a saviour. Someone who will save me from myself. Show me brighter side of living. Maybe _someday._ Now I'm _better off alone._

There are good days and bad days. This was definitely _a bad_ one.

On good days I feel only empty inside. Bad days are when physical symptoms start start to show up. Illness can be _mental_ , but symptoms are _physical_.

I feel myself start to relax as medication starts to kick in. My muscles don't feel so stiff now. I feel _calm_. Relaxed. That's the efect. Feeling relaxed and calm after taking medication.

Thoughts in my head are getting quieter and quieter until they finally fade to complete _silence_ and I allow myself to drift off to much needed sleep.

I hope tomorrow will be one of good days. The sun will rise and I will try again. Again, again and _again..._


End file.
